Sir Balin jumped at the rage in his brother’s voice. Sir Balan felt truly insulted by the mysterious man in the large brown burlap cloak.

The man smirked, then revealed a long wooden stick that was hidden under his large cloak.

“Do either of you golf?” he asked.

“Cough?” Sir Balin asked.

“Golf!” the man corrected him with a grin. “I’ve been looking for good competitors, and when I saw the both of you come up from over the hill, I was just elated. Now before we play, tell me! What are your names?”

“Don’t tell him your real name,” Sir Balan whispered.

“Then, what name should I give him?” Sir Balin asked.

“Any!” Sir Balan retorted. “Just make one up!”

“I’m no good at this,” Sir Balin whispered to his brother.

“Fine!” Sir Balan whispered. “I’ll give him a fake name.”

He cleared his throat and held out a hand towards his brother.

“This is…” Sir Balan began, then looked about for inspiration, but found little. Then he looked at Sir Balin and noticed his two swords. “This is… the Knight of Two Swords.”

“Good one,” Sir Balin jabbed.

“Shut up,” Sir Balan shot back.

“Alright, then,” the man replied. “And you?”

“I am…”

“He’s the Knight of One Sword,” Sir Balin said.

Sir Balan groaned.

“Strange names, but alright,” the man said. “Mine’s Cameron. Now that the pleasantries are complete, I must tell you the rules.”

“Alright,” Sir Balin said. “Lay them on us.”

“The winner gets to decide what the losers will do,” Cameron continued. “And you may only use the club to move the head.”

Sir Balin and Sir Balan looked quizzically at Cameron.

“I am judging by your reaction to my words, and your answer to my question about whether or not either of you golfed, that neither of you have, in fact, golfed,” Cameron said. “Is that a fair assumption, lads?”

Sir Balin and Sir Balan nodded their heads.

“Well, it’s a good thing I always keep spare clubs with me,” Cameron said, revealing two more wooden clubs from under his cloak.

He handed a club to each of the brothers.

“The aim of the game is to aim for a place,” Cameron said. “Because without aim, the game is pointless. I don’t expect either of you to understand this. I’m not surprised either. Not one bit.”

The man took a deep sigh, then gave them a weak smile.

“So I’ll show you, lads,” he said as he revealed a helmet from his cloak. It contained a head, severed at the neck.

“Good lord!” Sir Balin cried out.

“Churl, why do you have the head of a man in your cloak?” Sir Balan asked, horrified.

“This is what you will hit,” he said, throwing the helmeted head over to Sir Balin. Then he pulled out another head, replete with helmet, and threw it at Sir Balan. Then he pulled one more out for himself, dropped it on the ground where it landed with a wet splat. Then, he squared up with it and addressed the head, waggling his club as he did.

“Let’s get started,” Cameron said and swung his club hard and fast into the head, sending it flying down the highway. “First one to get your head to the next town wins.”

He shielded his eyes from the sun to track the trajectory of the flying head, then started running towards the direction in which it flew in.

The boys, stunned, hurriedly tried to do what he did. With reckless swings, they sent their head flying high into the sky, through the canopy, and falling somewhere far off the side of the highway.

They looked at each other before splitting up, each running into the direction of their own head.